


À la mode

by WayWorseThanScottish



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Character Death, Happy Ending, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M, Pie, minimal angst, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWorseThanScottish/pseuds/WayWorseThanScottish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the small town of the Shire lies an ice cream parlour on Hobbit Lane. Not a messy, franchised ice cream store, but a family-owned one, and that meant comfort. </p><p>Or, Bilbo owns Bag-End Creamery, and quite enjoys his quiet life. However, his dull evening has been interrupted by someone hammering next door. Surely no one has finally bought the store-front next door? It hasn't been owned in decades, who would buy it? And more importantly, who are they, and do they like ice cream? </p><p>Insert pie-maker Thorin and his raucous band of family members to disrupt Bilbo's respectable life. Perhaps it won't be so awful after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maple and Rocky Mountain Road

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is just a bit of fun for me to have--I'm actually mainly working on a different fic, so this won't be updated as frequently as I'd like. Any grammatical faults are my own, and I know nothing of pie-making (however I work at an ice-cream store, so I know a lil about that). I may change the title later on, but this is what it is for now! Bon apetit!

Bilbo absolutely loved ice cream. His great-grand-uncle or whomever had started the business, but it seemed that none of the other family members cared enough to take care of the place, and so it had fallen to Bilbo by default. Well, the Sackeville-Bagginses always wanted to work at Bag-End, but they were a lazy, intolerant folk who wanted to bulldoze the shop to build a condominium. 

Bilbo shuddered. Ugh. Condominiums. At least Bilbo had been given ownership; he knew better.  
The store itself was quite nice. Bag-End Creamery was rather homey, with warm cherry wood and well-worn seats, much-loved over the years by the locals. Its location was interesting, tucked away from the bustling Main Street, and so the tourists that found it always felt as though they found a treasure (when really it was the only ice cream shop for miles). It was never that busy though, as more often than not it rained in the Shire. And no one wants to eat ice cream when it rains.  
And Bilbo could definitely attest to the fact that ice cream was not fun in the rain. He had a constant chill being surrounded by frozen goods all the time, which resulted in him wearing two or three cardigans to work every day. And of course he worked every day; he couldn’t convince any of the teenagers to apply for a part-time job here (they all clamoured to work at the arcade or the movie theatres). 

And it got lonely. 

At least he had his regulars to keep him company. Like the old man who lived next door, Hamfast Gamgee. He ran a gardening store and lived in the flat above it, so that he could take care of his plants at a moment’s notice (why he would need to garden at night was beyond Bilbo, but sometimes he saw the store’s lights on in the wee hours of the night, which was quite the mystery on Hobbit lane, but not the only one).

And, yep. That was about it for regulars, unless you counted the Proudfoots (‘Proudfeet!’ they would always argue, as if proper names followed the grammatical rules of common nouns). The Proudfoots always barged in, making a mess and a great deal of ruckus, ordering a ridiculous amount of ice cream for only three people (how they managed to go through five pints of ice cream every week was beyond Bilbo, honestly). 

Bilbo wiped down the counters for the fifth time in the last ten minutes as he waited for the hour hand to hit the number five. There was absolutely nothing else to do in the shop, but ruminate about the past and slowly rot away the rest of his life. Fulfilling, wasn’t it? He at least wished he worked in a coffee shop; it always seemed more likely to find one’s true love with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and indie music and comfortable leather seats than the sharp tang of sour milk and the sound of screaming, tired children.  
God, he was turning into a romantic sap, wasn’t he? It must’ve been all of those romance novels he read, which had belonged to his cousin (well, his grandfather’s barber’s niece’s babysitter who worked at a bookshop and had died tragically in a car accident and somehow his parents had ended up with the books but that was a story for another time, and it was faster to refer to her as his cousin). He was embarrassed to admit that he’d read all the novels on his shelves (yes, even the cheesy romance novels with the muscly, long-haired men on the covers). 

It was a good thing he never got visitors; he’d never be able to handle the embarrassment.

Finally, finally, his digital watch chimed the end of his horrid duty. With a pleased smile, Bilbo flipped the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ and turned off the lights in satisfaction,  
heading up the stairs in the back of the store up to his flat.

He rested in his grandfather’s old sitting chair, only to be rudely interrupted by a banging noise. What in the world? It sounded like someone was building a house! Which was odd, firstly because this part of town was already developed, secondly because his neighbours were very quiet and rather old, and thirdly because he hadn’t heard any gossip about anyone building anything. And that was the oddest part, because you couldn’t so much as hang up a frame in your home without the entire town knowing.

Well, he’d deal with the ruckus after dinner. 

He changed into a more comfortable woolen jumper, then looked in the fridge only to realize that he’d forgotten to go to the grocer’s yesterday. Which meant going onto Main Street. Which meant talking to all the locals. Which meant a three hour trip. Damn.

With a sigh, Bilbo grabbed his messenger bag, his wallet, and his handkerchief (never knew when it might come in handy) and dashed off, out of the front entrance of Bag-End Creamery, locking the door behind him. Most of the stores in town closed at five (except the bank, which was ironic, and the grocer’s and the clinic) but oddly enough there was a light next door, and it wasn’t Gamgee’s Garden Shop. No, it was on the other side of Bag-End Creamery, where before it had been a place for sale that hadn’t been sold in over ninety years. Not for any particular reason, really, it was just that the family that had originally owned it (it may have been an apothecary…?) had died or since moved on, and the Shire never got new inhabitants.

Or, well, it had never gotten new habitants. This new development seemed to break that rule. At least it explained the noise.  
As Bilbo nosily peeked in to the harshly-lit storefront, a rather tall man was busy hammering the walls. Well, actually he was rather short, around the same height as the men in this town, but broader than the men in Dale (a result of isolation, everyone in the Shire looked similar, with medium brown skin, brown eyes, curly hair and a tendency to grow no taller than 5’6’’. It also helped that fashion trends stayed in town too, all the men always shaved, and the women loved to wear the same sort of wooshy floral skirts—the exception to this rule of course were the relative newcomers, the Greenleafs, and whatever Elrond’s last name was, and Gandalf). The stranger was sporting an impressive-looking beard, which was braided cleanly, and his long curly hair was tied back sensibly in a ponytail. It was apparent that he never went outside that often, with pale white skin that looked positively unhealthy compared to the robust faces he was used to seeing in the Shire. Frankly, the man looked foreign and worryingly attractive. 

“Ah, halloo?” Bilbo called in. The glass storefront had been broken a couple decades back, and so there was nothing blocking the stranger from hearing him.

The man looked over with a frown, and stepped down from the stool he had been standing precariously on. He was wearing a light grey long-sleeve, which hid some frankly impressive muscles. What was he, a construction guy of some sort? The man came over to the broken window, a scowl across his face. “What?” he asked gruffly, in a deep voice.

Oh god, he had dark blue eyes. Bilbo was a sucker for dark blue eyes. And apparently long black hair. Who knew. “Ah, yes, um, hello!” he answered cheerily, though it probably sounded more like a squeak. “I’m Bilbo,” he did his best to make a friendly smile, though it felt wrong and awkward. “Bilbo Baggins. I own the shop next door, the Bag-End Creamery.” He said in explanation.

“Okay.”

“Uh, right,” Bilbo bit his lip. “So, what’s your name? Are you the new owner? When did you get into town?”

The man raised his eyebrows, amused at the smaller man’s nosiness. “Thorin Durin. Yes. Today. Why do you care?” Right, well… short and to the point. 

Bilbo’s smile fell from his face. “Uh, sorry Thorin.” He shrugged apologetically. “We don’t often get newcomers in the Shire… I was just curious.” He looked away. It was probably too late to go to the grocer’s anyway. “Would you like a free ice-cream cone?”

Thorin seemed to soften. “Yeah, actually. I’m quite tired.”

Bilbo nodded. “Well that’s settled, then. Do you mind if we go to the local chippie first? I haven’t had dinner yet, and I’m starved.”

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck and looked back into his store. “Might as well. The kids are out with Dis right now anyway.”

Oh. Right. He was married. Well, better check, just to be sure, didn’t want any misunderstandings right off the bat. “You have kids?”

Thorin climbed over the half wall and joined Bilbo on the street. “No, they’re my nephews. Dis is my sister,” he explained carefully. “Once I clean this place up, do a few repairs, it’ll be the best pie shop this part of Britain’s ever seen.” Thorin was borderline cheerful, a half-smile gracing his face. It made a drop-dead gorgeous face even drop-dead gorgeous-ier. Okay. Bilbo certainly wasn’t a poet, but who wouldn’t be tongue-tied in the face of a Greek god?

“Pies?”

Thorin frowned. “Yes,” he said defensively. “Problem?”

Bilbo shook his head quickly. “No! No, of course not! I’m just thinking, pie and ice cream go very well together. That’ll certainly increase our sales!” he smiled at the thought.  
Thorin grunted. 

And they were back to one-word sentences and grunts. Lovely. 

Bilbo led them on down the side streets in silence, the temptation to whistle or hum very appealing. He couldn’t stand silence, and always had the radio playing softly in his flat and in the store. 

They ordered their fish and chips and sat down at a park bench, overlooking the lake. From here, you could see the twinkling lights of Laketown, and further west were the lanterns in Dale. The light was only just fading behind the lone mountain in the distance. 

“So what’s going to be the name of your pie shop?” Bilbo asked, as they looked out and munched on their meals.

“The Oakenshield.” Thorin replied, his eyes searching the skyline. Thorin’s face shouldn’t look that nice in the dusky light.

“Oh? Why’s that, then?”

Thorin turns his head and gazes at Bilbo for a long time. “Long story,” he tore his eyes away again to look at the skyline.

“Right, I get it.” Bilbo nodded. He frowned. “Well, no I don’t, but that’s okay.”

“Are you always this chatty?” Thorin asked, a sparkle in his eye.

Bilbo spluttered. “Why, well. Yes, but so is everyone here! What else is there to do in such a small town but make conversation? Besides, I hardly know you, and how am I to know you unless we chat? Why, you’re lucky I’m the first person you met! If you’d’ve met the Sackeville-Bagginses you’d’ve left straight away! And I think that’d be a right shame, Mr. Durin. A right shame indeed!”

Thorin snorted. “A right shame indeed,” he muttered.

Bilbo nodded shortly and let out a huff. “Right. Well, do you want ice cream or not?” he asked sharply.

Thorin truly smiled, teeth showing and everything. Drop-dead gorgeous didn't even begin to describe it. “You look ridiculous. You’re too short to be cross.”

Bilbo gaped, highly offended. “Why that’s rude,” he shoved Thorin’s shoulder roughly, not that it seemed to affect the man. He was practically made of stone. “How dare you? I’ll have you know that I’m a perfectly normal height for a member of the Shire, and I have every right to be cross! In fact, telling me I’m too short has made me become more cross! It’s not my fault you’re abnormally large. That’s probably what makes you so grumpy!” He harrumphed and jumped off of the bench, as it was a little too tall for him.

Thorin merely snorted again and grabbed their leftovers, dumping them in the bin nearby. “I think you’re tired, Master Baggins. And tired children require ice cream, or so my nephews Fili and Kili have oft claimed.”

Bilbo stuck his tongue out. “Shut up. Let’s go get ice cream.” He said sternly and marched back to Hobbit lane, Thorin in tow. 

He unlocked the door and led Thorin in. “Are your nephews around? They can have ice cream too, if they’d like,” Bilbo offered as he grabbed a couple clean scoops from a bin of lukewarm water. He flicked on a couple switches, turning on the lights in the store and squinting slightly. 

Thorin smiled. “Better not get them too excited on our first day here; they’ve already been treated enough with decorating their own room and a day of exploration of the town.”  
“Ah,” Bilbo replied, an understanding look on his face. “So what’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”

Thorin was standing where many a customer had stood before, yet somehow this was different. More fun. More energizing. “Mmm,” Thorin hummed. “I ought to try the cherry cheesecake, but I think I’m going to go with the one I’ve always gone with, Rocky Mountain Road.” His eyes soften as he pronounces the flavour.

“Two scoops?”

“Three.”

“Three?”

Thorin pulls a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, it’s free, and it’ll last longer.”

“True,” Bilbo said as he scooped the ice cream onto the cone for Thorin. “I’m fond of the Maple ice cream, myself, so much so that I don’t even sell it every day, only on Sundays because I want a constant stock of it for my own purposes,” Bilbo grins to himself as he plucks the tub of it from the back and grabs a couple scoops.

“Ah, the secrets of the Bag-End Creamery come to light,” Thorin said ominously.

“Shut up.”

They sat down at the coziest booth, which Bilbo privately referred to as the couple’s corner, as it was too small and intimate to fit anyone else. They ate their ice cream in silence, the hum of the freezer the only sound in the store as Bilbo had turned off the radio before he’d left for groceries.

“You know, you say shut up an awful lot for someone so chatty,” Thorin said offhand as he inspected the pictures hanging on the wall.

“And you’re rather talkative for someone so hell-bent on being unsociable,” Bilbo retorted.

And of course, Thorin grunted in response.

“You should bring your family around sometime,” Bilbo suggested, halfway through his ice cream.

Thorin nodded to himself. “Perhaps.” He checked his watch and raised his eyebrows. “It’s late. I have to help Dis settle the boys down for the night.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Bilbo nodded. “See you around?”

“I’m sure.”


	2. Milkshakes and Queer Conversation

Bilbo went to bed shortly afterwards with a smile on his face. God, Thorin was dreamy. And didn’t he sound like a thirteen year old with his first crush when he thought things like that? It was comical, really. No point thinking and worrying on it, Bilbo decided. He’d just curl up with a cuppa and read one of his cousin’s trashy romance novels.

Well, _reread_ one of the novels, Bilbo admitted guiltily to himself. He went to his fridge to grab the milk, only to realize that he _still_ hadn’t gone for groceries. Ah well, he’d do it tomorrow. Or better yet, close the store entirely tomorrow and have day off. He only ever had Sundays off, so why not? He owned the business, he should be able to take a day off.

Yes. He’d have a lie in tomorrow, go for groceries, and then make a delicious lunch, and no one could stop him.

***

A knock on the door woke him early next morning. Which was strange, because his flat wasn’t really accessible to the public (the postman usually just came in store for a break, grabbed an ice cream cone and dropped off the mail then and there).

Groggily, Bilbo put his slippers and robe on and padded warily to the door. He silently cursed the fact that he decided he didn’t need an eyehole installed, thinking that no one would ever come knocking.

He grabbed the frying pan from the kitchen, and scurried back to the door, hesitantly opening it, frying pan at the ready.

Instead of a menacing thug, however, it was an old man. Gandalf, to be exact.

“Bilbo Baggins!” he cried out delightedly.

“Good morning!” he said cheerily. And he meant it. Bilbo hadn’t had the chance to look outside, but in his opinion, all mornings were good. It was the most magical time of the day, when the sun came out and lit up the world, and the coolness of the morning woke you up with the damp grass beneath your feet. Nothing was better.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asked. He was wearing a long grey cardigan overtop a grey jumper, with grey pants and shoes to match. Bilbo couldn’t think of a time when Gandalf hadn’t worn grey. His long hair and beard (both of which were tied neatly, of course) completed the picture. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows amusedly. “All of them at once,” he replied. “And a fine morning for a hot cuppa, into the bargain.”

He hadn’t seen Gandalf since New Year’s, when he’d lit up a bunch of his quality fireworks in the park. No one ever really saw Gandalf except for parties, which was strange, considering he lived in a small town, and should be rather noticeable as he _was_ the Shire’s mayor.

Anyway. He slowly came back from his reverie and welcomed Gandalf into his tiny flat, turning on the stove to make tea. “I’m out of milk, is herbal alright with you?”

Gandalf hummed. “That’s quite alright Bilbo, but I have no time to sit down and drink tea this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone!” he proclaimed.

Bilbo nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right, it’d be tough to find anyone around these parts! We’re all quite plain and peaceful in the Shire, and I have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them,” Bilbo ranted as the kettle began whistling.

He poured himself a cuppa to calm down and sat in his chair, ignoring Gandalf for the most part. “Look, if you truly need someone for an adventure, ask the new neighbours. Thorin seems like the type to adventure.” Bilbo suggested, more for the sake of getting rid of Gandalf than any sincere reasoning.

“Ah, my dear Bilbo,” the old man said enigmatically. “That’s precisely what this is all about! Reclaiming Thorin’s home and fulfilling his destiny, swiping out Smaug and taking back what’s rightfully his!”

“Right, okay, that’s lovely Gandalf. Good morning!” he answered acerbically, pointedly looking at the newspaper on the table, which was from over a week ago but that was hardly the point.

“Humph, to think I am getting good morning’d by Belladonna Took’s son!” Gandalf muttered to himself. “I’ll be back, Bilbo Baggins.”

And thankfully, blessfully, _finally_ , Gandalf left.

And what a load of rubbish he’d been spouting. _Destiny?_ That was fanciful. And Thorin was anything but fanciful.

Well that decided that, then. He’d get groceries, come back, then he resolved to talk to Thorin about this ghastly adventuring.

**

Bilbo stopped by the library on his way to the market and grocer’s, talking to Elrond, the librarian, for a while. Elrond was a funny sort of fellow, cooped up for eternity with his books rather than living out with the rest of the townspeople in the Shire. He was a bit of a hermit, content to watch the world go by without him, watching from his private haven.

Nevertheless, Bilbo enjoyed talking to the wise man who never seemed to age, and Rivendell Library was always well-stocked.

“So do you happen to know anything about Smaug?” Bilbo asked while they were in the sitting room, eating short bread.

Elrond grew concerned. “I have not heard that name for a long time, Bilbo.” He said seriously. “That man is as sneaky and vicious as they come, but he hasn’t been heard from in ages.” His eyes narrowed. “From whence did you hear his name?”

The shorter man shrugged. “Have you met Thorin Durin yet?”

Elrond’s normally stoic face seemed shocked. “Nor have I heard any news about the Durin line in a very long time. A very powerful and large family, Bilbo. Not one with which to be trifled.”

Bilbo nodded slowly. “Okay. So. Right. That doesn’t actually help me at all, see. Do you have any _actual_ information about, well, any of that?”

“Stay away from Durin’s folk, Bilbo. They’re not to be trusted. They value themselves and their money over anything or _anyone_ else, and they are impulsive and reckless.” Elrond said this in his wisest tone, which normally Bilbo would trust.

“But how can you say that about an _entire_ family?” Bilbo argued. “I mean, everyone’s different, right? God forbid the Baggins name was generalized to _Lobelia_ and her awful traits.”

“I think we have arrived at an impasse, my friend,” Elrond said peacefully. “Now if you’re alright, I’ll be putting away these novels.”

Bilbo took that for what it was and left the library soon after, walking to the grocer’s.

His shopping trip went by unremarkably, as shopping trips are wont to do, then headed home equally unremarkably. He passed by Thorin working in his store, this time a new pane of glass, but a missing door. He must have just replaced the glass this morning while Bilbo was out. “Hiya Thorin!” he called out. He could hear kids complaining from the back of the store, over the sounds of construction.

But he was too caught up in his drilling to notice Bilbo walking by. Slightly discouraged, Bilbo unlocked the door to the Bag-End Creamery and put his groceries away upstairs.

A milkshake. That was what Thorin needed. And if Bilbo stayed around to sit and chat? Well, that was alright too.

 

**

 

Bilbo stood outside Thorin’s store awkwardly, unsure of this next step. Thorin was still drilling, oblivious to the world around him, and there wasn’t a door yet to the store, so should he just walk in? The alternative was waiting for Thorin to finish, which might take a while, and the milkshake would melt. Well, that decided that, then. Intruding it was.

Okay, so he was in the store now, and Thorin was still facing away. Right. And wielding a dangerous drill. “Thorin?” he called out. No response. He didn’t want to tap him on the shoulder, lest Thorin unthinkingly turned around with his drill. That wouldn’t be a nice interaction at all. Shrugging, Bilbo picked up a wood chip on the table next to him and threw it, hitting Thorin square in the head.

Thorin cursed and turned around, a menacing frown on his face. Like ultimate grumpy pants, we’re talking. “What?” he asked gruffly. His eyes narrowed on Bilbo, and his entire face just… softened slightly. “Oh, Bilbo. Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Bilbo was grinning like a doofus, and he could feel the blush overtake his face. “I brought you a milkshake. Thought you looked like you needed one,” he explained, handing the milkshake over. It had whipped cream and a cherry on top, looking absolutely delectable.

“…Thank you,” Thorin said, sounding a little bit surprised at the entire situation unfolding.

Bilbo could hear kids arguing in the back. “So are those your… nephews?”

Thorin rolled his eyes and took a seat on one of the old wooden chairs that were interspersed throughout the room. “Yeah. Fili, the older, is nine, and Kili is seven.”

At those words, a young boy rushed out, his dark hair flowing behind him. Another boy, this one older, Fili, obviously, chased after him, though he had bright blond hair that might have been longer had Bilbo been able to see them standing still.

“Boys!” Thorin said over their laughter. They immediately sobered and stopped moving. Their haircuts were pretty adorable; Kili had an overgrown bowl-cut, obviously trying to grow it out to emulate his uncle, while Fili’s hair was a rat’s nest, long and disorderly. “This is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Hello Mr. Boggins! I’m Kili!” Kili said, a touch too loud, but made up for it with the giant smile on his face.

“It’s _Baggins_ Kili!” Fili whispered loudly to his brother. “I’m Fili, and I’m nine and three quarters.”

“That’s wonderful.” Bilbo said, smiling down at the enthusiastic boy.

Just then, a women walked out of the back room, her relation to Thorin being obvious with the same long, curly, black hair and piercing blue eyes. “Who’re you?” she asked, suspicion filling her gaze. Yep, exactly like Thorin.

“I’m Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins. I own the store next door…” he tried to explain. “I met Thorin yesterday.”

“Ah!” she said, recognition filling her expression. “ _You’re_ the ice cream connoisseur.”

“Ice cream?” Kili asked, hope sparkling in his eyes.

“After dinner, maybe,” Dis replied. Kili and Fili high-fived as Thorin looked on fondly.

“Anyway, so, uh,” Bilbo began. “Yeah. Have you all met Gandalf yet?” The smiles suddenly left Dis’ and Thorin’s faces.

“Boys, go play outside and be home by nightfall,” Thorin commanded. Fili frowned and looked up curiously at the adults, then shrugged and raced his brother through the detritus and out the door.

“You know of Gandalf?” Dis asked severely.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah? He’s our mayor…”

Thorin nodded curtly. “But do you know of anything else regarding Gandalf?”

Bilbo cocked his head to the side curiously. “Uh… no? I was just asking, because he seemed to want me to go on an adventure. Some sort of quest, I think… seemed preposterous, really. And it was about you, Thorin. Reclaiming your motherland or something? I’m not sure, sometimes Gandalf is a bit delirious. Personally, I think it must be all those pipes he smokes. You know he grows his pipeweed himself, which can be very dangerous.” Bilbo blabbered on.

Thorin and Dis shared a look. “How strange,” Thorin remarked.

“Well, yes, that’s quite what I thought! Really, now, do I seem to be the adventuring sort? No, my home at the Bag-End is all I need. Don’t know _what_ Gandalf was thinking!” Bilbo shook his head. “If anyone, _you_ seem the sort to enjoy adventures, with all their outdoor, uncivilised glory…” Bilbo shuddered. “No, not for me, thank you.”

Dis raised an eyebrow, amused. “Well, glad we’ve got that settled.”

“But what’s even _stranger_ ,” protested Bilbo, really enthusiastic now, “is how the librarian reacted when I asked him about this entire adventure nonsense!”

“Oh? Librarian?” Thorin asked, his eyes narrowing a touch.

“Yes, Elrond the librarian.” Bilbo explained. “He’s always been a bit strange, to be honest with you. He’s a newcomer to the Shire, well, relative newcomer I suppose. He came here, oh… thirty odd years ago? Before then, he’d obviously been living somewhere else. The same place as the Greenleafs and Galadriel… well, I say that, but many a folk are strange in the Shire. Have you seen Sméagol? His family shunned him after some atrocity he committed—it’s different in every story—but he lurks outside the fish market and generally just scares children and hisses to himself. It’s frightening, really.”

“Quite,” Thorin muttered to himself.

Dis pursed her lips. “Bilbo, you _must_ come to dinner tonight, our entire family is showing up from the Blue Mountains! You can tell us more about the bizarre folk that inhabit this little land. And Thorin’s baking a couple pies, so that’s reason enough to come!”

Bilbo quirked an eyebrow at their lack of commentary on his little speech about the townspeople. “Uh, sure. I’ll bring ice cream!” he said, his enthusiasm building. “We’ll have apple pie à la mode! The perfect combination!”

“Yes, great,” Dis said, almost to herself. “Thorin, I have a couple ideas for the shop that we need to discuss. Bilbo, I’ll see you tonight, at, say, five?”

Bilbo nodded, taking a couple steps back. “Yeah, I’ll see you then. Goodbye, Dis… Thorin.” He nodded, and left, all the while thinking how queer that conversation was. Perhaps he’d find out more at dinner. Perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows how long this fic is, there's no outline, I'm just making it up as I go along. So it may be longer or shorter than five chapters, only Tolkien knows.


End file.
